Catch the cat
I’m sitting here feeling quite anxious as I have to take my daughter’s cat, ( please note it isn’t MY cat,) to the vets by 10am. That involves the delightful job of having to catch it and lure it into the cat box.
That involves close contact and the strong potential for getting scratched. My sense of self preservation is kicking in and I’m absolutely dreading the whole thing. The cat isn’t stupid and when it sees the cat box and my face, it usually tries to run in the opposite direction, which is through the kitchen serving hatch.
I haven’t fed the cat so it is currently yowling which is making my nerves jangle. Aren’t cats related to lions and I read recently that some cats had eaten their old lady owner because they were hungry and she probably had a cat box in the kichen.
I have put a small bowl of food at the end of the cat box but I remember doing this once before and when it did finally go into the box I slammed the door and then had the job of trying to get its tail back through the gap. It was like trying to grab an eel. The cat span around, its eyes were glaring at me and it definitely wasn’t purrring. It is a ginger cat and we all know how fiery ginger things are. Ginger snaps, Ginger beer, Chris Evans…
The vet asked me on a previous visit to hold the cat down whilst it has its injections. I’d rather abseil down the Tower of London or date James Hewitt.
So here goes, it is 9.21am and it is now or never.
I choose never…….
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